Page 24 of Thawed Gladiator: Quintus (Awakened From the Ice #6)
Chapter Twenty-Two
Nicole
The restaurant the kids chose feels like neutral territory—upscale enough to feel special but casual enough that we can talk freely.
I watch my three children through the window as Quintus and I approach the entrance, and my throat constricts with the familiar mixture of pride and worry that comes with being their mother.
Michael and David are both successful men in their twenties, but I can see Scott’s influence in the careful way they’re observing Quintus.
Years of watching their father manipulate and diminish people left them wary.
They’re protective of me in ways that break my heart because it means they saw more of my marriage than I wanted them to.
Ava sits between her brothers, eyes bright with excitement to meet my gladiator. At eighteen, she has the confidence I was still building at twice her age, but even she looks slightly nervous about this meeting.
“The whole family,” Quintus observes quietly as we pause outside the restaurant, obviously recognizing them from the pictures I’ve shown him. “Should I be nervous?”
“Terrified,” I admit. “They’re going to want to make sure you’re not another Scott.”
“As they should. That means they love you.” The lines at the edges of his beautiful gray eyes crease as he gazes at me with affection.
His acceptance of their protective instincts settles something anxious in my chest. Scott always saw the kids’ concern for me as interference, attempts to undermine his authority. But Quintus understands it comes from love.
Inside, all three of my children stand as we approach the table.
Michael is steady, David assessing, and Ava is bright as a match.
My sons tower over their younger sister, but Ava commands attention despite her smaller stature.
They’ve all inherited my coloring—brown hair and green eyes that miss nothing—but each carries it differently.
“Mom.” Michael pulls me into a hug. “How did the meeting with the lawyer go?”
“Long, but we worked out a payment plan that should keep your father out of prison.” I turn toward Quintus, taking a breath to calm my nerves. “Everyone, this is Quintus. He’s someone very important to me.”
The phrase feels inadequate, but safe. “Boyfriend” sounds ridiculous at my age. “Partner” might be too much too soon.
David extends his hand first, his grip firm, his expression openly assessing. “David Thompson. Thanks for helping Mom deal with Dad’s latest crisis.”
“Quintus. And it was my honor to support her.” His handshake is respectful but not overly deferential. “She handled everything with grace.”
Michael follows suit, though his smile is more cautious. “Michael. Mom mentioned you’re from the sanctuary in Missouri?”
Ava eases closer to him, then takes a half-step back, wary of how he’ll react to her enthusiasm. He pegs her with an open gaze and reaches out his hand. “I’m Ava! I drove up from college because I had to meet the famous gladiator who’s making my mom glow like a teenager.”
“Ava,” I warn, but I don’t really want to tamp down all that eager enthusiasm.
“What? It’s true!” She beams at Quintus. “She looks happier than I’ve ever seen her. Even her voice sounds different on the phone.”
“Before we go any further,” I interrupt, pulling the small translation devices from my purse, “these might make conversation easier.” I hand one to each of my children. “Quintus speaks excellent English, but these help with complex discussions.”
Ava examines the earpiece with the fascination of someone studying pre-med. “This is the technology Mom mentioned in her emails?”
“Yes,” Quintus confirms as they all insert the devices. “Skye—Thrax’s partner—built them. They carry our words cleanly between Latin and English.”
“That’s incredible,” David says, adjusting the fit. “Mom said you all still think in Latin sometimes.”
“Often, especially when emotions run high.” Quintus’s smile is open.
He settles into his chair with the calm of someone who’s endured more difficult moments.
The waiter appears, and we order drinks and appetizers while everyone at the table seems to ponder how odd it is to dine with people born two thousand years apart.
“So you’re actually…” David trails off, clearly struggling with how to phrase the question.
“From 82 AD, yes. Thawed from Norwegian Sea ice about a year ago.” Quintus’s matter-of-fact delivery makes it sound almost normal. “I imagine your mother told you the basic story.”
“She did, but hearing it in person is different.” Ava leans forward, her pre-med curiosity overriding any social awkwardness. “What’s the hardest part about adjusting to this time?”
“Technology, mostly. And social customs. In my time, women had very different lives.” Quintus glances at me with something that might be wonder. “In my Rome, your mother’s independence would have been a scandal and a marvel.”
The comment hits exactly the right note—acknowledging the strangeness of his situation while complimenting me in a way that doesn’t sound calculated. I can see all three of my children relaxing.
“She’s definitely independent,” David says with a smile that’s more genuine now. “Took her long enough to realize it, though.”
“David!”
“What? It’s true. You spent twenty-five years making Dad’s life easier while he made yours harder.” David’s expression grows serious. “We all saw it, Mom.”
“Even when we were little,” Ava adds quietly, “we could tell he was mean to you. The way he’d roll his eyes when you talked or change the subject when you got excited about school.”
The conversation I’ve been dreading since the divorce—my children’s front-row seat to my failing marriage. But their concern feels loving rather than judgmental.
“Your father had his own struggles,” I say carefully, not wanting to poison their relationship with him despite everything.
“Dad had his own issues,” Michael corrects firmly. “But that doesn’t excuse how he treated you. The constant put-downs, the way he dismissed your opinions, that time he ‘forgot’ about your graduation ceremony because it conflicted with his golf tournament.”
“I remember that,” Ava says, her voice carrying an anger that surprises me. “I was only fourteen, but I knew it was wrong. You worked so hard for that degree, and he couldn’t be bothered to show up.”
The memory pricks like a forgotten splinter. I set it down. We don’t live there anymore. “I survived it,” I say quietly. “And I learned from it.”
“You did more than survive,” Quintus says, his voice carrying that musical quality that always makes me feel seen. “You thrived despite impossible circumstances. Raised three remarkable children while building your education and career. That takes extraordinary strength.”
The pride in his voice is unmistakable, and I watch my children register it. This isn’t empty flattery or performative praise. He genuinely admires what I’ve accomplished.
“What do you do at the sanctuary?” Michael asks, his tone warming.
“Upkeep, mostly. I mend what is broken and turn my hands to whatever needs attention.” Quintus’s smile is self-deprecating. “I seem to have a talent for fixing things that are broken.”
“Including people?” Ava’s question is pointed but not hostile.
“A soul rises by its own will,” he says. “I stand near with steadiness.”
It’s the perfect answer—acknowledging my strength while admitting his role in my healing process.
“Mom said you sing,” David mentions as our entrees arrive.
“I do. Music was important in maintaining humanity during… difficult times.” Quintus pauses, clearly choosing his words carefully. “Your mother has a lovely way of expressing herself, though she’s modest about her talents.”
“She does,” Ava agrees enthusiastically. “She used to sing us to sleep when we were little. Dad always told her to keep it down, said she was being too loud, called it caterwauling.”
“He did that constantly,” Michael adds. “Any time Mom seemed happy about something, he’d find a way to steal the joy out of it.”
Another memory I’d tucked away, another small cruelty that seemed insignificant at the time but accumulated into a lifetime of hurt.
“She should sing more,” Quintus says simply. “The world needs more beauty, not less.”
“I agree,” Ava says firmly. “Mom, you have to promise to keep singing. And maybe learn some gladiator songs?”
“I could teach her some,” Quintus offers, his eyes twinkling. “Though they’re mostly battle hymns and drinking songs.”
“Perfect!” Ava claps her hands together. “I want to learn those too.”
By the time dessert arrives, my children are laughing at Quintus’s stories about adjusting to modern technology. His bewilderment at smartphones, his first encounter with a drive-through, and the morning he accidentally set off the sanctuary’s security system trying to fix a motion sensor.
“You really love her, don’t you?” David asks suddenly, his question cutting through the lighter conversation.
Quintus doesn’t hesitate. “Completely. She is the first to make me strive to be more while loving me as I stand.”
“And your intentions?” Michael’s question is protective, but not aggressive. “Because she’s been through enough.”
“To love her as she is, to stand beside her dreams, and to build a life that strengthens us both. In Rome, vows were deeds,” he adds. “I will make mine so.” Quintus meets all their eyes directly. “Your mother doesn’t need rescuing or fixing. She needs partnership. That’s what I hope to offer.”
“My people believed that the goddess Fortuna blesses unions built on mutual respect and growth,” he continues. “What your mother and I have feels… divinely guided.”
The silence that follows feels weighty but not uncomfortable. I watch my children process his words, compare them to twenty-five years of watching their father treat me like a burden to be managed rather than a partner to be cherished.
“Good,” David says finally. “Because she deserves that.”